


sisyphus's curse

by goldfwish



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Extended Metaphors, Gen, exile arc, no beta we die like it's our last canon death, that one scene where tubbo goes to logstedshire and sees tommy's tower and assumes the worst, tubbo has guilt but tries to supress it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:02:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28589982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldfwish/pseuds/goldfwish
Summary: On Sisyphus’s shoulders, a heavy weight sits. Having cheated death twice, his final life is condemned to an eternal cycle. His every waking hour will be spent pushing a boulder up hill, its peak forever unreachable. As he gets close, the boulder will roll down to the bottom, and he will be forced to push it up, again, and again, and again. It is a fruitless task, one he will never be able to complete. Every day, repeating.Tubbo is not Sisyphus, but here in the president's seat, he is trapped in an everlasting cycle, a cycle old as time itself. It is inescapable, inevitable. War will not be silenced.
Relationships: Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, platonic - Relationship
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	sisyphus's curse

**Author's Note:**

> i planned to write this weeks ago and it was going to be longer and better but then the festival stuff happened earlier today and my fic ideas list grew exponentially so i wrote this in a haze within a few hours at like 4am just so i can get it out of me and declutter my brain at least a little bit
> 
> dsmp artists/animators/editors/writers stop being talented it's giving me too much inspiration /j

On Sisyphus’s shoulders, a heavy weight sits. Having cheated death twice, his final life is condemned to an eternal cycle. His every waking hour will be spent pushing a boulder up hill, its peak forever unreachable. As he gets close, the boulder will roll down to the bottom, and he will be forced to push it up, again, and again, and again. It is a fruitless task, one he will never be able to complete. Every day, repeating.

Tubbo is not Sisyphus, but here in the president's seat, he is trapped in an everlasting cycle, a cycle old as time itself. In the aftermath of the revolution, he looks out upon the nation, a nation so many shed blood for. In its rivers, the phantom remnants of that blood flow, and in its fields, the crops weep with war.

Looking out at the wreckage, Tubbo makes a promise. If he can protect his citizens, his people, his friends, from ever having to wield a sword again for the rest of their lives, he will. He will do whatever it takes, to not have to stain these lands further. He makes a promise, and swears to himself to keep it. He makes his best friend his vice president, and together they swear to rebuild their nation, to make it one of prosperity, and hope, and peace. He will die on this hill if he has to, he tells himself. As long as he gets the boulder to that peak.

But War will not be silenced. She sees these actions, hears these words, and laughs, forever amused at the dreams of mortals. Her art is ancient, fine-tuned and mastered. She has spent millennia singing her song, and she will not be drowned out now by feeble attempts at harmony. She sets to work, whispering ideas into ears, feeding doubt into mouths, frustration into limbs.

By the next day, a house is on fire, burned to the ground by hands doused in mischief.

And so, the cycle starts anew.

**——————————**

When Tubbo exiles Tommy, pulls the lever on his inevitable lonely demise, he tells himself it’s for the greater good. He made a promise, he says, a promise to do what’s best for his nation. He had made Tommy his vice president in the hopes he would help him to keep that promise, but situations change. His presence now is dangerous, an obstacle to their goal, and obstacles must be dealt with. This is necessary, he tells himself. This is what needs to happen, if they want to reach that peak.

He gets backlash from his cabinet, but he had expected that. He braces himself against the boulder, using it to shield himself from the barbs and sharp words, the yelling and the taunts. This will be worth it. It has to be.

Tubbo braces himself against the boulder, pushes the obstacle to the side. He waits for the path to clear, waits for the boulder to roll higher.

Instead, when the dust finally clears, he is handed a compass by a ghost who means well, but only serves as a constant reminder of what Tubbo has done, the decision he’s made. He looks down at the glowing face, at the needle pointing steady at its faraway north, and feels the churn of regret in his gut. In his mouth, the taste of sour guilt lingers, making a home for itself on the back of his tongue.

**——————————**

During the days, Tubbo continues to determinedly push at the boulder, donning his suit and tie with stubbornly steady hands, head held defiantly high. He refuses to let his guilt get in the way of him making good on his promise. He leaves his house with a smile on his face, talks to his citizens, his friends. Makes plans with his cabinet. Lends a hand around the city when needed. He does not let himself think of the weight pushing against his shoulders. He does not let himself think of traitors, and betrayal. Most of all, he does not let himself think of the music disc sitting in his chest, unused, gathering dust.

But if, at night, Tubbo lays in bed, and lets his mind slip, lets his guilt run freely, well. No one needs to know.

No one needs to know how the moon shines through his window, how he stares at its faint beams stretching across his ceiling, how he hums a familiar tune under his breath, a tune laced with reminiscence and warmth and home.

There are grooves etched into Tubbo’s skin, carved with the familiar melody of a song once loved by him and Tommy both. In the solitude of his room, Tubbo lets himself ache, knowing he was the one to ensure they would never listen to that song together ever again.

He can only hope Tommy is doing alright.

**——————————**

But as Tubbo strains himself backwards to push the boulder up the hill, he fails to see the figure standing at the top, waiting patiently at the peak.

A figure clad in bright green, white mask perched on his face.

**——————————**

Far from L’manberg, another hill sits. At this hill, there is no boulder, no obstacles to push aside, no promise to reach the peak. Instead, all that waits at the top of this hill is a tower, crudely built of dirt and log. Surrounded by nothing but empty rolling fields, the tower climbs to the heavens, defying gravity and the gods in its sheer audacity to stretch above the clouds.

One would think a tower such as this would be something to celebrate, a feat of courage and engineering, an act of strength and power.

But as Tubbo stands at the bottom, stands among the exploded ruins of its lonely base, he can think of only one reason why someone would build a tower as tall as this. He cranes his head up, squints through the rain with eyes that are stinging from the raindrops constantly falling into them. He blinks, then blinks again, and again, and again. With the hand not clutching onto his compass like a lifeline, he scrubs at his eyes, refusing to believe he’s seeing things right. He can’t be seeing this right. He has to be imagining it. He has to be.

Because if he isn’t…

If he isn’t…

On his hill, Tubbo slips, losing his hold on the boulder he had worked so hard to push. He watches numbly as it tumbles, rolling, rolling, rolling down. Among the ruins of Logstedshire, he falls to his knees, uncaring of the mud smearing across the knees of his trousers. His ears are ringing, his breaths coming faster with each second he spends looking up at this goddamn tower. His mind can only conjure one thought.

_Why?_

Why, why, why, why? Why did he wait so long before visiting? Why didn’t he send anyone to check up on him? Why—

Why did this have to happen?

_Actions have consequences,_ he had told Tommy, once. Right before he had sent him away with Dream and ordered him to never come back.

But now, the consequences of his own actions are staring Tubbo right in the face, and he can’t think, he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, he can’t fucking breathe.

_Are these my consequences?_ Tubbo thinks. _Is this my punishment?_

He tears his eyes away from the tower, looks down at the compass in his hand, frantically wipes rain off the glass. The needle doesn’t move, pointing stubbornly at the tower, at the ruined remains of the building that once stood here. Around him, the area is silent, empty. Devoid of life.

_You’re supposed to lead me to him,_ Tubbo thinks, somewhat hysterically. _What’s the point, if you won’t work properly?_

What was the point in any of this? He had exiled Tommy because he thought it was the right thing to do, because he thought it would stop them from fighting another war, because… what else was he supposed to do? Dream hadn’t given him much of a choice. But he never expected…

Kneeling in the dirt and rain, Tubbo’s mind whirls, thoughts and questions and pleas coming and going, rushing too fast, intangible. This isn’t what he had wanted at all.

Not at all.

In L’manberg, at the bottom of a hill, a boulder sits, still, unmoving. Leaning on it is a man clad in bright green, mask perched on his face, axe in hand. There, they lie in wait, eagerly awaiting the president’s return. Lightning strikes the sky, illuminating the land, revealing the stains of old wounds, about to be reopened.

And somewhere in the distance, thunder booms, echoes of War’s roaring, cackling laughter.

**Author's Note:**

> i know tubbo blew up his compass but shh it's for The Drama
> 
> also i don't know if the metaphor made sense but at this point i am too tired to care thank u and good night <3


End file.
